The Kissing Disease
by GLuisa88
Summary: There are some people you just don't tangle with. Dean would rather deal with a pissed off ghost, at least he could shoot at a ghost.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Don't know when this story takes place doesn't really matter. On second thought, I think I'll place it in Season 2. I referenced monsters that happened in Season 6 but that doesn't mean that they didn't run across similar situations earlier on.**

**A/N 2: I haven't forgotten about "Ophan", I'm still working on it. I just thought I'd give it a little break because I kept thinking up stuff to write for this story ****:)**

**Rating: T for mild language**

**Summary: There are some people you just don't tangle with. Dean would rather deal with a pissed off ghost, at least he could shoot at a ghost.**

**Please review!  
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Sometimes you didn't have the time to say goodbye. Sometimes you just had to put the town in your review mirror and never look back. It was just the nature of the beast. Sometimes when you finished with a town you left the place in a bigger mess than when you came- albeit, a safer mess, but people rarely saw it that way.

People didn't usually feel safer after you dug up the grave and burned the bones of dearly beloved Grandma Matilda, they didn't feel safer after you shot the family dog with a silver bullet to the heart, and they definitely didn't feel safer after you impersonated a state marshal and killed their next-door neighbor.

Perhaps they wouldn't be so pissed if they knew that dear old departed Granny still lingered and had made it a practice to push unfaithful husbands out of windows, or that Rover was in actuality a skin walker who had orders to tear the family to shreds, and the next-door neighbor who always lent you a cup of sugar had been infected with a deadly demon virus.

But those were things that you could not speak of without finding yourself institutionalized and so they were secrets that you kept.

And that was something Dean had known since he was merely a child. That was Dean Winchester's life. Not a life he had chosen for himself but which had been chosen for him. A life from which he could not escape.

Dean was sure that he had pissed off a lot of people in his life.

Sometimes when he put a town in his rear view mirror the town was not all that he was leaving behind him. Dean was an expert at loving and leaving. He never gave women any reason to think that he'd stick around for longer than one night. Heck, he never even promised to stick around for breakfast.

They say that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Dean supposed he had left behind a few women like that. But he didn't think about it often. Definitely didn't feel guilty about it. It wasn't his problem if they read more into their relationship than he had intended. If they were going to be like that then they should have waited to let him in their bed till at least the third date.

He had learned early on not to say goodbye. There was one girl. Once. One date. The next day he found that he was leaving town sooner than expected and he thought he should at least say goodbye. She had laughed at him. She had never expected to see him again, much less get a goodbye. He had been cool with that, other than being a little embarrassed.

Of course he never thought that one day he'd piss off the wrong woman. There are some women that you just don't tangle with.

**%%%**

Jenna had been a virgin. Dean had had no idea. And he had to admit it freaked him out. A lot. She hadn't said anything, hadn't told him, he kind of figured it out.

Why would she do that? Give her virginity away to a guy she'd just met in a bar? She had been a little bit tipsy but not when he had first introduced himself earlier that evening. She had been all over him from the moment he had said he was with the FBI, looking into her friend's recent death. So even though she'd had maybe one drink too many when he had first suggested going back to her apartment he had assumed that her consent had been implied long before then. And hell, he'd been a little bit drunk too.

He'd stayed for breakfast and even said goodbye. He hadn't thought it would be necessary to tell her that he wasn't sticking around. What did she expect when she hooked up with a stranger from out of town? Apparently she'd been expecting more than just one night.

She had freaked out on him. He was surprised at how many dishes that girl owned. Hadn't even thought about it until they started flying at him. Just when he thought _that has got to be the last of them _she would open another cupboard and find more. If he hadn't felt so damn guilty he'd have run from there like hell. Which he did when he realized she wasn't going to be calming down anytime soon. Or running out of dishes.

He'd driven away. Shoved the incident into the back of his mind where he stored all of his other _"You'll never believe this girl I slept with" _stories which he would pull out someday and laugh about with Sam. That is, after the multiple cuts and bruises on his body healed.

And he tried not to think about the occultic herbs that were growing in a pot on her porch that he had caught a glimpse of as he fled.

"Damn." he thought "I'd rather deal with a pissed off ghost." At least you could shoot at ghosts.

**%%%**

**One Week Later**

Dean had little patience for stupidity and little patience for witches. Stupid witches even less patience. And that was on a good day. Today was not a good day.

Bizarre animal sacrifices and then the gruesome death of a young child. They suspected the work of a witch. They were in Salem, Massachusetts. And no, the irony had not been lost on either of them.

Posing as FBI agents they had been interviewing a suspect that morning but Sam had called the meeting short due to Dean's hostility and "extreme un-professionalism" during the interview. Or "interrogation" as Dean seemed to view it as.

"Sam, she's a monster! She murdered an innocent child and God knows how many other innocent children!" Dean hissed at Sam as they had left.

"We don't even know if she's who we're looking for! Personally, I don't think she did it!" Sam had hissed back, then continued, "Dude, what's wrong with you?"

Dean had ignored the question and stalked back to the car.

Not enough sleep was the story of Dean's life, he was used to running on limited sleep but lately he hadn't been sleeping at all. For like the past week. It made him on edge. Nerves frayed.

Dean hummed quietly to himself as he sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, tapping his fingers on his thigh, eyes shut and head leaning back on the headrest. Sam was refueling the car.

Sam had been itching to drive for quite a while so when Dean complained of being tired Sam had jumped at the opportunity to insist on driving. Dean hadn't put up much of a fight. He had been exhausted and unable to sleep for way too long. Insomnia. He'd always dealt with limited sleep but he had not gone for such an extended amount of time with absolutely none.

Sam popped his head in the car while he waited for the tank to fill up, "So Dean, no sleep again?"

Dean grunted, "No. Leave me alone Sam."

Sam went back to fueling the car.

Several moments later popped his head back in, "So how long has it been?"

"How long has what been?"

"Since you've had any sleep?"

Dean shrugged, "Huh. 'bout a week." _Around the time of the Jenna incident _he remembered silently.

Then he remembered the herbs. _Nah, it was before Jenna… right? I was feeling crappy waay before Jenna… Wasn't I?_

The Ouija board sitting on her coffee table. _Oh good grief, stop being so freakin' paranoid! So the girl had a Ouija board. As did millions of other harmless idiots who thought Ouija boards were just a game… so what?_

Well it definitely didn't help that he had witches on his mind anyway.

Dean shoved these thoughts aside and tried to sleep. But that wasn't going to happen. Sam would see to that.

Sam climbed back into the car, glanced over at Dean, "You're flushed." He said, putting a hand on Dean's forehead, "Geez man, you're really hot!"

Mock horror, "Whoa, Sammy! I had no idea you felt that way!" Dean exclaimed recoiling from Sam's touch.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Shut up, bitch. I meant, I think you're running a fever. You're burning up."

"Yeah, well, that's what she said." He tried to change the subject, "So what's our next stop?"

"Well I'm taking you back to the hotel room. Unless you'd rather stop by the hospital."

"No, I'm perfectly fine. We're going to finish interviewing the suspects and then I will rest." He snapped.

"No, _you're_ not going to be interviewing anyone. You're going back to our room and _I_ will interview the suspects."

"Not happening Sammy. I'm not going to be sleeping while you go talking to some crazed bitch who likes to snack on small children!"

Sam was driving the car so Dean lost this argument.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating: T for language **

**Story Thus Far: Dean pisses off a lot of people. That's all you need to know :P**

**Please Review! :D Pretty pretty please!  
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_**Two Weeks Ago**_

It was the hottest club in town. Or at least that's what the pamphlet in their motel room said. Not that Dean took the advice of a pamphlet in motel room, he usually asked around. Asked the locals, i.e. the hot waitress at the diner who told Dean that that was where she was going to be that evening. _Totally the raddest club in town! _She had said.

_'Raddest'_? Dean had shuddered at the word but she was hot enough that he could overlook her vocabulary.

'_Was that before or after that dude went all Dracula on his friend?'_

Dean found it strange when she failed to show the appropriate reaction of horror at the mention of the gruesome attack that had happened just days before and instead laughed, as if he had made a joke, "My god, it was like something out of Twilight!" Her eyes were shining with excitement. Probably the most drama Prescott, Wisconsin had ever seen.

And, she told him, the club had even created a special drink. In honor of the victim, of course. They had named the drink, "Bloody Barry". Apparently the poor dude's name had been Barrett. Yes, Dean was definitely looking forward to checking this place out.

The music in the club was deafening. Dean couldn't hear himself think. Not that it mattered, you didn't come to places like this to think. When you went to a club and hooked up with a chick you'd never met before it wasn't usually a well thought out, calculated decision you made after hours of contemplation. _Well, maybe that's what Sammy does_ Dean snorted.

Okay, so the hot waitress wasn't there and the club was lame. But it compensated for it in loud music and alcohol. Once you got drunk enough you didn't care anymore. Not that he really had the option of getting drunk right now. After all, he was technically on a case. He needed to ask around, find out more information about this vampire attack. The answers he got were consistent. '_A stranger from out of town', 'it was a brawl, dude went for the other guy's neck', 'total freak, watched too much Twilight'. _However nobody seemed to know his name, where he was from or where he was staying. Another dead end.

"Hey," a voice said behind him, "I hear you were asking around about that attack last week." The voice belonged to Mandy. She was blond, wide set blue eyes and dimples. Dean had tried to buy her a drink earlier that evening but she had declined. She was there with her boyfriend.

"Are you a cop?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Well, you're asking the wrong people." she smiled and moved in closer to Dean, "I know a lot about what happened to Barrett."

He raised an eyebrow, smiled, "Well, why don't you tell me about it while we dance?"

They had made their way over to the dance floor when boyfriend appeared,

He grabbed Dean by the shoulder, jerked him around to face him, his eyes flashing, "Don't go screwing with my girlfriend!"

He straightened to his full height, towering over Dean. Intimidation. Dean expanded to his full height as well, looked the man in the eyes, "Back off asshole." Turned to walk away.

The man grabbed him by the arm, but Dean pushed him off. "Man, don't even go there. I don't want to fight with you. But trust me, you screw with me and I'll shove your nose so far up your face you'll be smelling your brain." This time the man let him go.

Honestly, Dean wanted to avoid a fight if at all possible. It wasn't that Dean doubted his ability to take the man in a fair fight, or even an unfair fight, but he'd noticed a tattoo on the man's forearm. It was a five-pointed compound symbol with a center triangle pointing down. It made Dean uneasy. Dean couldn't remember what exactly it meant but it was definitely occultic. Dean had a rule, don't mess with dudes that are bigger than you and have satanic symbols tattooed on their forearm. Well, ok, he had just thought that up right then but he felt it was a pretty good rule of thumb to follow.

He went over to the bar, ordered himself some whiskey. Sat back and watched as a fight between Mandy and her jackass boyfriend heated up. The man was drunk and looking for a fight, he hadn't gotten one out of Dean. Dean could seem them screaming at each other, tattoo guy shoved his girlfriend and she shoved him back. Dean looked away, pretending he hadn't been watching when tattoo guy gestured towards him.

The fight continued on for several more minutes until tattoo guy gave the girl one last shove and then stormed out of the club.

Dean sighed. Turned back to his whiskey.

Again, Dean heard a voice behind him, "Hi there."

He turned around when he felt a hand on his shoulder, it was Mandy again.

She smiled coyly, she grabbed a bar stool next to Dean, "The boyfriend left for now."

He laughed. "Is your boyfriend always such a dick?"

She laughed again, "Yeah, pretty much. Sorry about that."

There was a comfortable silence for several moments, then she said, "You know what, I'm just going to be honest. You're really hot. But I bet you hear that all the time!"

Dean smirked, "Yeah, all the time." He threw back another shot of whiskey.

"Hey, wanna go back to my apartment with me?" That was sudden. Revenge sex.

Hell yes. He didn't mind being used.

They were back at her apartment. Had been there for maybe an hour. Dean didn't hear it when the front door opened, didn't hear the heavy footsteps through the apartment, coming towards the bedroom. But he heard when the bedroom door shoved open.

Oh crap. Tattoo guy and he was livid.

**%%%**

**Present Time…**

Sam returned to the hotel room several hours later to find Dean hunched over, sitting on the edge of the bed, stripped down to his boxers and wrapped up in the quilt off his bed. Mindlessly flipping channels on the television set.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

He looked up from the TV, eyes glassy, "Nothin.'" His voice was tired.

"No, I mean, why are you sitting there naked, wrapped up in a blanket?"

"I was cold."

"Then why don't you put on some clothes?"

"I was getting overheated. Are we done with this inquisition?" Annoyed. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes.

"No, we're not. I left you here to sleep off your fever- did you sleep at all?"

Dean shrugged, "I dunno. I tried."

"Aww, come on Dean! You gotta get better- go back to bed!"

Dean rolled his eyes, but was too tired to protest and right now he could barely keep his head up.

Dean crawled back into bed and lay there for what felt like hours. He didn't know if he finally managed to doze off or not. It had been so long since he'd slept that he barely remembered what it felt like. In fact he doubted if he'd recognize it if it came.

If he eventually fell asleep, he couldn't tell. He certainly didn't feel like he had when the sun finally rose, indicating that it was morning. At least the fever had passed. Sam wouldn't be able to use that to keep him locked up in their hotel room any more.

**%%%**

"Are you sure you're feeling well enough? You were pretty sick yesterday. If you want to stay here and watch TV, that's fine with me. I can finish this case by myself, you know."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Damn right, I'm gonna let you finish this case by yourself! Stop being a mother hen. I'm feeling better." He stood up, grabbed his jacket and checked his gun. Shoving it into the back of his jeans.

But Sam hadn't taken Dean's word for it. Had insisted on taking Dean's temperature. 98.6. Dean had smiled smugly at him, "Can't keep a good man down for long there Sammy boy! Whadya say Doctor, can I be released now?"

They spent the morning at the library, Sam was looking into local history. Then they had followed a few leads from the previous day. They had found nothing.

Now they were sitting in a diner waiting for their food to come.

The waitress had talked a mile a minute as she'd poured their coffee, a flirty smile on her face. Never taking her eyes off Dean. Dean barely noticed, or at least he gave no indication that he did.

She was pretty in a cheap sort of way, _Totally Dean's type_ Sam rolled his eyes. But Dean was unusually quiet that day and just sat there eating his fries. Well, one of his fries. Maybe two. Mostly he just sat there and watched his food grow cold.

He stared at his cheeseburger. It stared back. He took a bite of it. Stared at it some more.

Sam took notice, "Dude, why aren't you hungry?"

Dean looked up startled, "Say what? Oh… hungry?" he shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I've eaten too many cheeseburgers. Ya know, that's pretty much all I eat. Guess I'm tired of them"

Sam looked surprised, took out his flask of holy water and splashed it in Dean's face. Dean sputtered, "Dude! What was that for?"

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Sam grinned but then his face grew serious, "Seriously Dean. First off, you didn't notice that the hot waitress has been flirting with you and practically _begging_ to give you her number and then after 30 years you just now decide you're tired of cheeseburgers?"

"Aw, I don't know. Maybe I'm just not hungry."

"You said you were better… are you still sick?"

"What? No! Of course not. Cut it out Sammy. I'm sick of your hovering. I'm perfectly fine. Trust me, if I were sick I'd let you know."

"Really Dean? Cuz you never tell me any of that kind of stuff. You wouldn't tell me if you had a hole blown in your head and you were bleeding to death!"

Dean chuckled, "You're probably right. I wouldn't tell you. But trust me, I'm feeling awesome. Never felt better."

Sam looked doubtful.

That was a bunch of crap. Dean was feeling far from awesome. He stared down at the cheeseburger staring back at him. He was feeling nauseated just looking at it. And the onions. Whose idea was it to put onions on it? Way too overpowering.

Had to get to the bathroom _now. _"I'll be back Sam. I gotta… uh… I'll be right back…"

He turned and walked towards the bathrooms. _Don't run _He thought. Couldn't let Sam onto how sick he was feeling.

Wasn't sure he'd make it in time. _Wow, that would be classy _Throwing up all over himself in the middle of the restaurant. Couldn't imagine that would go over too well.

_Walk normal. _Would it be too suspicious to look behind him to see if Sam was watching? _I'd really like to run these last few feet. _He was feeling a bit dizzy too. If Sam was watching there was no way he didn't see Dean stumble a little. Or how Dean wasn't really walking in a straight line. _Damn, I must look like I'm drunk!_

He made it to the bathroom just in time before he lost his lunch. And then his breakfast as well. "Uughh," he groaned, "I don't think I'll ever be able to look at food again."

And then he puked some more.

It was times like these that he wished he carried around a toothbrush and some minty-fresh toothpaste. He rinsed out his mouth and splashed some cold water on his face. Hoped Sam wouldn't notice his breath. _Just gotta make sure Sammy doesn't try to kiss me! _He smirked to himself. And then flipped off the man next to him at the sink who was giving him strange looks.

He could really go for a 7-Up right now. But there was no way he'd be able to order one without Sam noticing. Damn, hiding illness was nearly impossible around Sam. Growing up whenever they were sick or had an upset stomach for whatever reason, their dad would always toss a 7-Up at them. The carbonation helped settle their stomachs. At one point it had been Dean's favorite soda but this practice had ruined it for him. Not that he didn't like it anymore, it just tasted like sick.

**%%%**

"Catch." Sam said, tossing a 7-Up at Dean as he got back in the car after a quick stop at a gas station.

"What's this for?" Dean asked. Surprised.

"It's to help settle your stomach."

Dean rolled his eyes, "What makes you think my stomach needs settling?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe it was the fact that you didn't eat your lunch, or the expression on your face right before you ran into the bathroom at the diner, or maybe the fact that your face is _really _green."

_He's so smug_ Dean scowled.

"Yeah well…" he was about to open the can of soda but looked suspiciously up at Sam, "Wait, did you shake this up? Cuz I swear I will kick your ass if I open this up and it explodes all over my car!"

"Dude! Why would you think I would do such a thing?"

"I don't know… Maybe to get back at me for all the times I did it to you?"

Sam laughed, "Thanks for reminding me. I'm still plotting my revenge, but believe me, it's not going to be anything as bush-league as shaking your can of soda!"

Dean hated being sick. He rarely got sick. But what freaked him out the most was the nagging fear in the back of his mind that maybe whatever it was wasn't normal. He wanted to just suck it up and continue on with the case. Pretend that everything was fine until everything _was_ fine.

But he had to tell Sam his suspicions. As much as he wanted to keep it from Sam, he needed Sam's help. And so he brought it up.

"Uh Sam. So have you noticed anything weird about my being sick?"

"Weird? Weird how?"

"As in cursed weird. As in I pissed off a witch weird."

Sam looked startled, "You think you pissed off a witch?"

"Well, actually, yeah. I'm pretty sure I did. And I mean, hell, I never get sick."

"So. You think that you're not really sick, you've been cursed?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

"Well, you gotta admit, it sounds crazy Dean."

"Mhm. I know. I don't want to think it either but," he shrugged, "I've suspected it for quite awhile and it's only going to get worse."


	3. Chapter 3

**Story So Far: Dean is sick and suspects that he's been cursed by a witch. So far he's pissed off Jenna- the virgin, and Tattoo Guy- the boyfriend of Mandy.**

**Rating: T for language**

**Please Review!**

**A Week and a Half Ago**

A hunt for a shape shifter had led Dean to the casino. Turned out that the lead was a dead end but that didn't mean Dean wasn't going to stick around for awhile and have a good time while he was there. It had been a tough day, make that a tough week, and he deserved a little downtime.

He gave Sam a call. Sam was out there looking for the same shape shifter, following a different lead.

"Hey there Sammy, it was a bust on my end, how's it going for you?"

Sam's voice was breathless and exhausted but Dean could hear a smile, "I got the bastard. He's dead."

"And how are you? Did it hurt you? You sound like hell."

"Nah. Not too bad. I'm good."

"What does 'not too bad' mean? Cuz that kinda sounds like 'yeah, he tore my head off but my fingers are still moving so I'm fine'."

Sam laughed, "Honestly Dean. I'm great. He scratched me up a bit but I'm headed back to the hotel to sew myself up. I'm just a little tired."

This answer seemed to satisfy Dean, "Well, in that case, once you clean up you should join me at this casino. We should celebrate the end of a case and the death of another evil son of a bitch!"

"Nah. I'm tired. Just gonna hang out at the hotel. Maybe read a bit. But you go ahead and celebrate without me. Knock yourself out."

Dean grinned and shook his head, "How did I raise such a geek brother? Have fun Sammy- I'll probably be out late so don't wait up for me."

"Never do." Sam laughed.

The casino was crowded. Where the teeming masses went to get away from the monotony of suburbia, win a little bit of money, lose a lot more, and maybe get really, really drunk.

She was a nurse on a weekend bender, just looking for a good time at the local casino.

She caught Dean's eye, not because she was hot, which she was, but because of her extraordinary luck. He watched as her winning streak never seemed to end.

Finally he approached her, "Wow. I guess today is really your lucky day!"

She laughed, "I guess so! Beginner's luck!"

He smiled, and lowered his voice conspiratorially, "If you're not careful, the management is going to throw you out of here!"

"I had no idea there was a law against being lucky!"

"There shouldn't be one but the house doesn't always see it that way!"

Dean discovered she was easy to talk to. Not very intelligent but when one looked like that who needed brains? It seemed a bit inconsistent that someone who acted like they had sniffed the peroxide bottle one too many times could be so amazing at gambling. She cleaned up at Poker. And the Roulette Wheel. And Craps. And even the slot machines. Dean was fascinated. How was she doing this? Apparently the dudes in charge wanted to know as well. Dean could see them huddled together whispering. It wasn't long before she found herself out on the street, albeit $50,000 richer.

"Seriously, what's your secret?" Dean had asked her for probably the fifth time that evening.

"Witchcraft" she laughed.

They had laughed over that one as they made their way back to her hotel room.

Dean was at her hotel room. Waiting for her to freshen up. Geez. How much freshening up did she need? She'd been in the bathroom for at least forty-five minutes.

He sighed, flipped channels on TV for awhile. The buzz from the alcohol that he had consumed earlier that evening was beginning to wear off. He called for room service and ordered champagne.

Sat there for another ten minutes.

Dean's phone rang. _Oh crap. _Why the hell was Sam calling him?

"It had better be good Sammy!"

Sam's voice was weak and barely audible over the phone, "Dean… it's me…I just wanted to call and let you know that I'm heading over to the hospital… an ambulance is on it's way… I just thought I'd let you know so you won't freak out when you get back and I'm not here."

"Damn it Sammy! What the hell happened?"

"Umm… the maid was possessed… but she's dead now."

"Just hang tight there Sam- I'm on my way!"

"Oh no, Dean. Don't worry. I'm fine. Stay where you are."

"Damn it, are you freakin' kidding me? You think I'm gonna be banging some chick while you're in the hospital dying? Ain't gonna happen Sam!"

"Honestly Dean. I'll be fine. Nothing you can do anyway."

"You're delirious. Just hang in there Sam. Don't go dying on me. And if that demon bitch slashed your throat, remember to keep your head down."

"What?"

"You know, if your throat gets slashed keeping your head down will keep you from bleeding out."

"Yeah, Dean, I know. It was just really random."

"Just trying to cover all bases."

"Oh. Thanks. I'm gonna go now."

Dean hung up the phone. So much for Shanna. Speaking of Shanna, just at that moment she emerged from the bathroom.

Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands. He looked up at her.

"Hey there sexy," she smiled, "are you ready?"

All of a sudden he realized the awkwardness of the situation.

"Uhh…" He began nervously, "Ya know what? No. I'm not." He stood up began throwing his clothes back on.

"What the hell?" her eyes wide, her voice squeaked.

"Umm… just heard some terrible news… I gotta go. I'm really sorry to run out on you like this but family emergency!"

Shanna was obviously not buying it. Dean quickly packed up his stuff and started walking for the door. She followed him, swearing, crying, grabbing at him- trying to hold him back. Her voice reaching a fevered pitch, "Is something wrong with me? Is it something I said?… You're a jerk! …A family emergency? Yeah right, I've heard that one before!…Just man up and tell me the real reason! Tell it to my face! You're a real jackass! I bet you hear that one all the time!… Do you run out on girls a lot or am I special?…"

Dean couldn't get out of there fast enough.

**%%%**

First order of business: Find out who Dean had pissed off in the last few weeks.

That list turned out to be overwhelmingly long.

Second order of business: Eliminate suspects down to the people who seemed to have connections to the occult. It took a long time but they managed to whittle the list down to three people:

Jenna

Tattoo Guy

Shanna

"Now tell me why again you think that Shanna is a witch?"

"Her luck was too good. It definitely wasn't normal."

"Hmm." Sam said doubtfully.

"What do you mean 'Hmm'?"

"Nothin'. I just said hmm."

"Yeah, I know. But it was the way you said it. Like you don't believe me."

"Yeah, whatever, Dean. Let's just get on with this, okay?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam looked back at the list, "So this boyfriend dude. You said that he had a tattoo that looked like some kind of occult symbol, right?"

"Yeah. It was definitely satanic. The guy gave me the creeps. When I first saw it I thought he was some moron who thought it looked cool but didn't actually know what it meant."

Sam sighed, ran his hand through his hair, "So you think maybe he was a wizard?"

"A what?"

"A wizard. You know, a male witch."

"You mean like Gandalf? Well, that's gay."

"Seriously dude? You didn't know that?"

"What?" snort, "Of course I knew that! I mean, who doesn't know that a male witch is called a wizard?" he paused and then chuckled, "...That is so gay!"

Sam looked unconvinced.

"Oh hell. Come on Sam, I've never run across a male… uh …_wizard_ before - how should I know that?"

Sam laughed, a little to hysterically for Dean's comfort. "Dude, what did you think wizards were?"

"Shut up Sammy."

Sam tried unsuccessfully to wipe the grin of his face, "Well, okay, so we need to find this guy… find out if he put some sort of spell on you or something."

**%%%**

Dean was in a foul mood. Not helped by the fact that the car was cramped. Even without Sam's massive body taking up the drivers seat. Even sprawled out as he was, Dean felt stiff and uncomfortable. He looked towards the apartment building where they had parked the Impala in front of. David Heller's place. Tattoo Guy had a name. Although Dean thought "Tattoo Guy" fit him better. The air outside had been cool and there had been a nice breeze. But Dean was stuck here, uselessly, in the car while Sam went to provoke a demon worshiper.

He was bored out of his mind, his whole body ached, his stomach hadn't felt strong enough to eat, he just longed to go to sleep. And dammit, now his throat hurt too.

"How did Sam talk me into staying in the car?" he muttered to himself as he flipped through the stations on the radio. All he knew was that if Sam didn't come back within 30 minutes he was going in after him. He really hoped that Tattoo Guy was the wizard they were looking for. He wanted to get this whole thing over with for one, and for another he relished the thought of being able to beat the crap out of him. His mind went back to their last encounter.

Dean had been unprepared and unsuspecting which put him at a disadvantage. Tattoo Guy had beat him up pretty good. A humiliation Dean had no intention of letting him get away with. Regardless of whether or not Dean had deserved to have the crap beat out of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Rating: T for mild language**

**Story So Far: Dean's pissed off a lot of people and now it's come back to haunt him.**

**A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update this- darn writer's block!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, the Winchester brothers, Ward and June Cleaver, or Bugs Bunny :)**

A crowded bar, choking on second-hand smoke.

A Metalica concert, too many bodies slamming into each other, deafening music amped up so high you could feel it shaking your teeth.

Bound to a chair with rope pulled too tightly, cutting into your wrists while crazed monster versions of Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver tore out your fingernails.

Yeah, pretty much all of those things seemed preferable to this. Well, okay, maybe that last one was a little extreme but nevertheless, if Sam were to create a list of all the things he would like to be doing right at that moment, he was pretty sure that dealing with a pissy brother and a pissy witch would be pretty low on that list.

He had convinced Dean to stay in the car. Dean was cranky, restless, and wanted to do anything but sit in a tin box- even if it was the Impala- that was cramped and hotter than freakin' hell. It took quite a bit of convincing, but Sam had finally won the argument. Sam attributed it to his superior reasoning skills but truth be told, Dean just wanted Sam to shut up. Sam knew how to do that. Wear someone down with arguments and words until they had no further recourse but to give in. Well, and though he had no intention of telling him, Dean knew that this time, strategically, Sam was right. Things would go better if Tattoo Guy didn't know that they suspected his involvement in black magic. He wouldn't be as likely to close up and play stupid if he didn't feel threatened. Also Sam had mentioned that he felt safer if he didn't show up at the guy's doorstep with the man who had screwed his girlfriend in tow. That would probably get the interview off on the wrong foot.

Though of course getting the interview off on the wrong foot was kind of how Dean had pictured things going down. Dean hadn't quite envisioned the confrontation going down quite as civilly as the plan Sam had laid out before him. Sam proposed knocking on the man's door, sitting down with him and talking. Dean's plan had been a bit more aggressive. It involved breaking down doors, breaking a few bones, and strangling the son of a satanic bitch until he agreed to remove the curse.

Dean always tended to get a tiny bit violent the more sleep he lost.

Not that Sam wanted to talk to a demon-worshiper by himself. He would have preferred to have let Dean take the reigns on this one. Witches and wizards were unpredictable and shockingly cruel. Dean and Sam had dealt with several of them throughout the years and it never ended well. Last people on earth that you wanted to piss off and if Sam knew anything about anything it was that witches had incredibly short fuses and fantastically wild imaginations. The kind of spells they could dream up and create were mind-blowing and there were only extremely specific ways to break the spells. Often times something known only by the witch. Sam had to chuckle as he remembered the witch in Pittsburgh that had made it impossible for Dean to sit or lie down for nearly two weeks... at the time it was no laughing matter but it had been long enough ago that now both brothers could find it in themselves to chuckle. Although it pissed Dean off just how hysterical Sam got when he laughed about it. It hadn't been _that_ funny. In fact when Dean was finally able to do something other than stand he had collapsed in bed and had been unable to get back up and put weight on his legs for nearly a month afterwards.

The walk to the apartment door wasn't long enough, didn't have enough time to mentally go through his story. Rang the bell. While he waited for the door to be answered he rehearsed in his mind what he'd say. Dean was so much better at this. Lying, making up stories off the cuff, crap like that. The door opened. There he was. Not scary. So not scary at all. In fact so normal it was almost too normal. Sam didn't know what he had expected.

He smiled,_ Act casual_. "Hi there. Umm, I'm Sam Kearney." He shoved his hands in his pockets, "I uh, just moved in to this apartment building." He nodded his head in some vague direction and offered a nervous smile.

"Whatever dude. What do you want from me? Do you want me to make you a plate of brownies? Send you a welcome-to-the-neighborhood basket?"

Sam chuckled, ran his hand through his hair, "Uh, actually," he lowered his voice, looked around to see if anyone was listening, "I was told to talk to you… I'm really into the occult, witchcraft, stuff like that." He laughed guiltily, "Yeah, I know, not the best way to introduce yourself to your new neighbors! But, uh... I've been asking around, and I'm looking for a group to get plugged into. Everyone tells me that you might know a little bit about something."

The man's expression had gone from annoyed at having his football game interrupted to a strange mixture of disgust and confusion.

He snarled, "Do I look like the type who goes out into the woods during a full moon and chants Latin over the carcass of Bugs Bunny?"

Sam stammered, "Uhh, no…no, of course not! But dude, what about that occultic tattoo on your arm?"

The man snorted, "What? This?" He rolled up his sleeve and shoved his tattooed arm in Sam's face, "Occultic tattoo my ass! It's a Blair Witch symbol! You've never seen the movie? This is ridiculous- I don't know who ya been talkin' too but you better get your sorry ass outta here or I'm gonna call the police on you."

Sam choked, backing up awkwardly, "What? Oh. Wow. I'm sorry to have bothered you... um, I think I'll leave now. Okay, yeah. Bye."

Before the man slammed the door shut he shouted after Sam, "And stay away from my house- if I find my dog carved up, I'll have the cops on your ass so fast..." his voice trailed off as he failed to find a way to end the threat. As Sam made his way down the stairs he could still hear the man muttering something about having his fantasy football game interrupted by a jackass moron who still hadn't moved out of his mother's basement.

**%%%**

Dean didn't realize he had dozed off until he was rudely jolted awake by Sam slamming the door of the Impala, muttering angrily in Dean's direction.

"You're a moron Dean."

There was a pause as these words pierced Dean's foggy haze, "I love you too Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Aren't you gonna ask me how it went?"

Dean stared at Sam blearily for several moments, his mind was still a bit fuzzy and he was still working on the reason why Sam was calling him a moron.

A wizard. Tattoo Guy. Outside his apartment building. Oh yeah, that's right. Got it. The moron part though was still a bit unclear.

"What's wrong there Sammy boy? Undies too tight?"

"What's wrong is you're a moron. You sent me in after a Blair Witch Project groupie."

Dean processed this for a moment, he scratched his head, "What are you talking about?"

"The tattoo on his arm. It was a Blair Witch Symbol."

"You mean like from the movie?"

Sam nodded curtly, staring straight ahead. Lips pressed tightly together.

Dean, "So he wasn't into the occult?"

"No."

"Crap." Dean looked at Sam assessing, "Well what's got you so damn grumpy? It's me that's dying!"

Sam glared at Dean, "Don't be so melodramatic. I'm 'grumpy' because you sent me in there based on faulty intel. I looked like a complete moron. It was awkward. And how the hell did you not recognize the symbol? You've only watched the movie like, I don't know… fifty times!"

Dean realized Sam wasn't laughing along, "Aww come on Sam, it's funny! You gotta admit it's funny! Why aren't you laughing?"

Sam just grunted, put the car into gear. "Shut up. We've still got two more people to interview."


	5. Chapter 5

**Story So Far: Dean has been cursed and now he and Sam are trying to find the witch that has cast a spell on him. So far they have interviewed Tattoo Guy, which was a bust.**

**Rating: T for mild language **

**A/N: So I've officially decided, the story is set in season 3! Sorry about the confusion- the timing never really mattered until now! **

**A/N 2: Sorry for the delay- this chapter was one of the easiest and hardest I've ever had to write- I had so much fun with it and so much inspiration but at the same time it was SO hard to get it out of my brain and onto paper! Every time I'd re-read it I'd find something more to fix- I'm still not 100% about it but I could futz with it for the rest of my life so here you have it. If it's a disaster, please don't give up on the story- I promise, the next chapter will be better! And I intended to include their interview with Shanna, the girl from the casino but that will have to wait till next time…**

One hand on the steering wheel, the other out the window, Sam let the wind wash over it. The only relief from the 109 degree temperature. It was a warm wind but it was better than the inside of the Impala. Heat so intense it made you gasp for air. Like sticking your head in a 400 degree oven. And the seat belts- well, Sam was pretty sure they had burned through his jeans and seared a permanent brand on his hip after attempting to buckle up. It had taken awhile, but the steering wheel had finally managed to cool down to a semi-bearable temperature… at least Sam could turn the wheel using more than just his finger tips. And worst of all, wouldn't you know that the Impala's air conditioning unit had decided not to show up for work that day. Why is it that the A/C consistently breaks down on the hottest day of the year? It's almost like it knows. Like it's part of a union or something that collectively decides to go on strike right when they know people will be most desperate to agree to their demands. _Yes, yes, anything you say, just please give us some cool air! _

_Holy crap_. Sam rolls his eyes and wipes the sweat from his forehead. Doesn't do much good though when his hands are just as sweaty as his face. _The heat must be melting my brain cells… You know you've been in the heat too long when you start imagining your car plotting elaborate conspiracy theories. _

Not that he would put it past the Impala to conspire against him. Dean and Sam had always had a love/hate relationship with the Impala- Dean loved her, Sam hated her. _Well, it's not that I hate her, it's just that Dean's obsession with her is definitely a turnoff. _Crap. There he went again. Why did heat make semi-intelligent thoughts impossible?

It was September. Technically still summer, but for most parts of the country Fall had already begun. Dean and Sam had woken up to 40 degree temperatures in Illinois but several hours later and multiple layers of clothing lighter they had found themselves in Tennessee, stuck with temperatures that could pop popcorn. Heading deeper down south.

The drove for hours in silence. Silence on a long car ride was not unusual. When you sat in a car together for days on end you eventually ran out of things to talk about. Usually it was a comfortable silence. The brothers just content to sit there, lost in their own thoughts. But today was definitely not comfortable. You could slice the tension with a butter knife.

Sam really shouldn't have brought up Dean's deal….

_Several hours previously…_

Dean was still allowing Sam to drive and Sam was still allowing Dean to choose the music.

'…_Out here in the fields/ I fight for my meals…'_

Sam was annoyed. Here Dean was, running around the country trying to save his life from a witch but still didn't give a crap that in less then six months he was going to be dragged off to hell.

And it was infuriating. All the times that Sam had pleaded with Dean to care about dying, to try to find a way to break the deal and he would just shrug it off with a joke or a sarcastic comment. But now a witch makes him sick and he goes crazy swearing that he'll tear her apart, limb from limb, because heaven forbid that he _die_? _What the hell? _Since when did he care?

What frustrated Sam the most was that he was pretty sure he knew what was going on in Dean's head.

It was probably not the best of times to bring up such a hot-button topic, what with Dean being sick and all. Yelling at Dean for selling his soul didn't really go over well when Dean was in a good mood. But yes, Sam was gonna go there. To hell with Dean's mood, Sam had had enough. _Who cares if Dean is cranky? I sure as hell don't! Damn it, I'm cranky too! I've been sitting in this car for hours on end, listening to Dean's crappy music, no air conditioning in this sardine can-_

'…_I don't need to fight/ to prove I'm right/ I don't need to be forgiven…'_

"Yo Sam! Earth to Sam!" Dean barked, slapping Sam upside the head. Sam jolted up. His eyes had glazed over, hadn't been paying attention to his driving. He had been swerving into oncoming traffic.

Sam jerked the car back into his lane. He looked over at Dean with a nervous grin, laughed sheepishly, "Wow. That was close!"

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes, "Thank God I didn't fall asleep! Keep your eyes on the road bro or I'm taking over!"

Sam sat silently, trying to find the best way to confront his brother, "So, Dean. I was reading the newspaper this morning… apparently there has been a string of violent deaths in Gatlinburg, Tennessee… All the signs point to it being a ghoul. You know, victims drained of blood, cut up pretty badly but they were dead for several hours, in some instances days before the blood was drained. Police are saying a serial killer but I don't think so."

Dean raised an eyebrow, "So?"

Sam shrugged, "I dunno. Just thought maybe we should check it out. I mean, Gatlinburg- it's not that far from where we are now."

"What the heck Sam?" Dean huffed, "We're on a case! If you don't remember, I'm _dying_!"

Sam pursed his lips together and just shrugged, "Yeah, yeah, I know all that."

Dean stared at Sam, mouth hung open, his eyes wide with surprise at Sam's devil-may-care attitude in regards to his life.

When Dean didn't respond, Sam continued, "But really Dean, you got what? About six months left before the hell hounds come after you? So I mean, we chase a witch around the country, get her to remove the curse and then what? You die six months from now anyway! So the way I see it, you die now from this curse that witch put on you or later you get torn apart by hungry dogs."

Dean sat in stunned silence for a few minutes. This definitely did not sound like Sam talking.

"So you're okay with me checking out early like this? A witch curses me and I just lie down and take it?"

'…_Don't cry/ don't raise your eyes/ it's only teenage wasteland…'_

Sam tried to keep his face stoic, calm. "Well, it sure beats the alternative." He said simply. "A hell of a lot more humane and definitely less messy!"

Dean stared at Sam for several moments. Searching his eyes for some clue as to what was going on. Was Sam being serious or was there something more going on in that head of his? Dean turned away. How could Sam care so little about the prospect of his death? Sam's mood swings were giving him whiplash. What happened to pleading, puppy dog Sammy, the brother that looked at him with those big dark eyes, begging him to find a way out of his deal.

When Dean spoke, his voice was emotionless, "Well, if it's _humane _we're going for," his voice turned a bit sharp, "Then why don't you just shoot me in the head. Let's end this right now."

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his gun. He clicked on the safety and shoved it towards Sam. "Come on Sam, do it! I mean sure, you'll be scrubbing brain matter off the upholstery, but at least you'll know that I didn't suffer !"

Sam grabbed the gun and threw it in the back seat. "I'm not gonna shoot you Dean." He hissed. "Of course you always have to take things a step farther!"

"Just calling your bluff dude. Man, what's going on?"

'…_The exodus is here/ the happy ones are near…'_

"I just feel like we could find a better use of our time." Sam knew how Dean would respond to these words, he knew almost exactly what Dean was going to say:

"Oh yeah, because saving my life is such a waste of time!"

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes.

"I saw that!" Dean wasn't going to let Sam get away with it, "Don't sit there and roll your eyes. Just say what you're thinking!"

Sam sat back, annoyed. "You wanna know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that you're being a drama queen. Making a big deal out of nothing." Sam shot a quick glance at Dean to see his reaction.

Dean's expression was stony, "Yeah, I thought so. That's what this was all about. You don't believe it's a curse, do you?" he spit out. "Cause me? Yeah, I'm an idiot… You're such an arrogant bastard Sam. You know that? Just… never mind."

He turned away, staring out the window. He folded his arms, set his jaw. End of discussion.

Neither brother said anything for awhile.

"It's not gonna work Dean."

"Wha-"

"You really don't think I can see right through all your crap? You don't think I've noticed how frantic you've become, how much energy you've expended towards finding this witch? But yet you won't lift a damn finger to help find a way to break your demon deal!"

'…_Let's get together before we get much older…'_

Dean opened his mouth to protest but Sam interrupted, "Shut up Dean, let me finish! I know what this is about! This witch crap. You're tired of me nagging you, you're pissed at me for accusing you of having a death wish so you think that by throwing yourself into finding a way to remove this so-called curse I will leave you alone about the demon deal! You think that this will somehow get me off your back about you giving a crap whether you live or die!"

"That's bullshit!"

'…_teenage wasteland…'_

The music. He couldn't take another minute of Baba-freakin'-O'Riley.

'_teenage wasteland…it's only teenage wasteland… there all wa-'_

"I am so damn sick and tired of your damn freakin' music!" Sam reached forward, twisting the volume off just a little bit too hard. The volume control snapping off and rolling to the floor. Sam watched as it rolled underneath Dean's seat, coming to rest next to a lonely French fry that Dean had missed when he had cleaned out the car several days previously.

Dean's eyes were wide with horror, "What the he-"

"Shotgun shuts his cake hole!" Sam snapped.

**%%%**

Dean couldn't tell if it was the humidity or another fever coming on. He was dizzy with heat. He had taken a couple beer bottles from the cooler in the trunk, put one behind his neck and held the other one to his forehead. It helped cool him down for a little while but now the bottles were luke-warm. The condensation on them had evaporated long ago. Leaving no use for them other than for Dean to drink them.

Probably not the best idea.

"Told ya you shouldn't drink the beer." Sam muttered. Whether or not Dean heard he gave no indication, just reached for the door, as Sam began to slow the car down to a stop by the side of the road. Apparently not fast enough for Dean's liking- he stumbled out before the Impala had come to a complete halt. Face planting on the ground.

"Am I sick enough for you yet?" Dean wheezed several minutes later as he tumbled back into the car, banging his head on the door frame on the way in. He brushed his hands over his jeans, knocking off the gravel that had embedded itself in his palms. "Or am I still being a 'drama queen'?"

Sam rolled his eyes and handed Dean a couple of bandages to patch up the cut on his forehead but didn't reply so Dean continued on, "Yep. I've been sick like this for two weeks, if you hadn't noticed." His voice was weak, rough. He sounded like he had swallowed some of the gravel, "Oh and did you notice this new cough of mine? It just keeps getting better and better right? And hell, have you seen me lately? I look like crap. I haven't slept more than one hour in a 24 hour period for the past two weeks and I've lost like six pounds already… which I guess would be awesome if I were Oprah."

Sam wasn't quite sure what response Dean was looking for. Was he looking for another fight? Was he looking for sympathy? Or was he trying to justify this witch hunt?

Sam didn't really care at the moment. Dean had survived worse than this. "Take some aspirin." Was all he said.

Dean scowled as he dry swallowed the pills that Sam had handed him. Leaned stiffly back in his seat. Turned his head towards the window and stared at his angry reflection in the side mirrors.

Sam was beginning to regret breaking the radio. Crap. More of this stifling silence. Thank God they were nearing their destination.

TBC

**Footnote: A special thanks to Moira4eku who pointed out that the drive from Wisconsin to Tennessee is probably longer than "several hours" as I had originally put in the story- hehe! So I changed it from Wisconsin to Illinois. Yes, the interview with Tattoo Guy took place in Wisconsin but I assume that the brothers did a little bit of driving the previous day. I appreciate the critiques and sharp readers who notice these things for me!**


	6. Chapter 6

**In the Previous Chapter: Sam and Dean are driving to Georgia to meet up with Suspect 2, Shanna. Nerves are on edge, fuses are short, the brothers fight. If that doesn't jog your memory then go back and reread the chapter :P**

**Rated T for language**

Dean had continued to not to talk to Sam all through the rest of the car trip. Sam was grateful when Dean eventually fell asleep, relieving the oppressive tension that hung in the air.

Dean lay splayed across his seat, his head had fallen on Sam's arm, making it difficult to maneuver the steering wheel and causing Sam's hand to go numb. He had tried to shake Dean off of him but it had only served to roll Dean's head into an uncomfortable position. Dean's neck was going to hurt like a bitch when he woke up.

Dean didn't awaken until Sam pulled the car up to a motel just outside of Decatur Georgia. It was late afternoon, Sam was hot, sweaty and achy and couldn't wait for a nice cold shower. He jostled Dean off of him and stepped out of the car. Dean didn't stir, just slumped over the seat where Sam's arm had been supporting him.

Sam booked a room and when he returned to the Impala he found Dean awake and sitting up. He had finally regained consciousness after he had realized that his head support had been removed.

"Where are we?" Dean asked, voice barely above a whisper. Wincing as he attempted to speak, "…Water… I need water…"

"Just outside of Decatur."

He moaned sleepily as he rubbed his face and cracked his neck. A sharp intake of breath as his eyes landed on Sam's half empty water bottle. His hands shook slightly as he grabbed it. Sam thought fleetingly that Dean resembled an alcoholic who was jonesing for a beer. Dean gulped down the lukewarm water too quickly, sending him into a coughing fit, most of the water splashing down his shirt, soaking him through.

"Have a drinking problem?" Sam grinned.

Dean didn't smile at Sam's joke, "I have Shanna's address here." He coughed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumbled piece of paper.

Sam looked at him in surprise, "Where did you get her address? I thought you said you didn't even know her last name?"

Dean just stared at him for several moments, blinked, "You know Sammy, I do think with my upstairs brain every now and then." he said sarcastically.

Sam smirked.

"You drive. I'll give you the directions." Dean muttered as he squinted at the map that he had spread out in front of him.

Sam, "Huh?"

Dean looked up from the map, a question in his eyes, "What's the problem Sam? You do know how this works right? I give directions- you follow."

Sam blinked. Did Dean really think they were going to head straight for the interview? Oh crap. He did.

"Well you can put the map away for now. We'll check out your witch tomorrow."

"No. I want to get this over with now."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Why would I be kidding?"

"Dammit Dean, I'm hot, tired, miserable and we've been driving all day! Shanna will still be there tomorrow!"

"Yeah, well, I've been miserable for the past two weeks- I want to get this over with!"

"Well it won't kill you to be miserable for one more night!" Sam snapped. Okay that was a little harsh. He really should try to be a little bit more sympathetic towards Dean. Sure Dean was being hard to get along with, and yeah, he was being unreasonable but surely Sam could make a few allowances for his stricken brother.

"Get over yourself!" Dean growled.

Sam opened his mouth to respond but shut it quickly. Anything he had planned to say right now would only make the situation worse.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, "Whatever man." He said coldly, after Sam failed to respond. He shoved open the car door. Stalked to the motel room, where after shaking the doorknob, nearly breaking it off, he realized he didn't have a key. He waited there awkwardly for Sam to unlock the door. Tapping his foot impatiently and sending death glares Sam's way. _If looks could kill…_

Sam fumbled a while with the lock on the door- Dean could swear that he was taking his sweet time with it just to drive Dean nuts. It was working. Dean shoved past Sam into the room, threw his bag onto the bed. Pulling out his gun, he sat down on the edge of the bed and began cleaning it. A scowl still plastered on his face. Not looking up at Sam, even when Sam tried to clear the air.

"Come on, Dean…" Sam began.

"Don't." Dean interrupted. "Your voice is grating on my nerves."

"Look man, I know you're sick and tired but don't take it out on me!"

Dean finally looked up from his gun, "You know what Sam?" His face stony, "You won this argument, okay? You want me to be happy about it too? Not gonna happen. So shut up."

"I just don't want to fight Dean… I know you're upset with me right now-"

"Damn right. You're a selfish bastard."

"Yeah. So you've told me… but I think you'll find that after you get a shower and a good night's sleep you'll feel better… in fact, you'll be thanking me in the morning."

That was the wrong thing to say. Dean's eyes narrowed, "You can do whatever the hell you want." He spat, standing quickly to his feet, "Don't wait up for me."

"Where are you going?"

He paused and turned around, "I'm gonna get drunk and drive real fast."

"Dean."

"I'm going to go talk to her by myself. You can stay here and screw yourself."

Sam groaned, "I thought we agreed that we'd do this together."

Dean snorted, "No one's stopping you if you want to come along." He grabbed a fresh shirt out of his duffel bag and threw it over his head as he walked towards the door.

Sam tried to grab Dean's arm, "Dean get back here!" Dean shoved him aside.

Sam knew when to admit defeat. There was no way that he was going to be able to stop Dean from doing what he had set his mind to. Even sick, Dean could probably still lay Sam out cold and Sam didn't suppose that hiding Dean's car keys would go over very well. He would just hot wire the car anyway.

Frankly, Sam did not want Dean doing this alone. He didn't want to see what Dean would do to Shanna in his present mindset. Sam made a hasty decision. He would rather accompany Dean now then get a call later from the police station asking him to bail his brother out of jail.

"Dean. Wait." Sam called after him, "Okay. I'll go with you. Just let me take a shower first." He pleaded.

Dean just flipped him off.

** %%%**

Sam really wished Dean had listened to him about getting a good night's sleep before going for the interview. The man looked like hell. His face pale, dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slightly slumped.

She was petite- probably a little bit over five feet tall- long black hair pull back, Hispanic but probably something else in there as well, judging by her warm green eyes. Dean glanced down at the paper in his hands with the address on it. Glanced at the numbers above the door. Yeah, it was the right house, wrong girl.

"Good afternoon miss," Dean flashed his most charming smile, "We are looking for a Shanna…uhh…" _crap, never did figure out her last name._

The woman smiled politely, "I'm sorry, you just missed her. She left for work like maybe a half an hour ago! But you can try back tomorrow?"

Sam tugged at Dean's arm to go, "That's too bad- yeah we'll try back-"

Dean interrupted, "Well hey, maybe you could help us. We're here with the uh… FBI… do you mind if we ask a few questions?"

The smile drained from her face, "Oh my god." she gasped, "Shanna isn't in trouble is she?"

"Oh no, not at all," Dean reassured, avoiding details. "May we come in?"

"Well, uh… can I see your badges?"

"Sure thing." Dean dug around in his pocket as Sam did the same. Sam was hoping against hope that one of his many fake ID's had inadvertently made it's way into his jacket pocket. He hadn't been expecting to go undercover and was insanely grateful when his fingers wrapped around the leather of the ID badge wallet in his coat. They flashed their badges, were about to put them back in their pockets when she reached out a hand, "Wait a sec- do you mind if I have a look?"

Dean hoped the woman didn't notice his grimace as Sam angrily jabbed him in the side with his elbow as they handed over their badges. Damn, his brother had sharp elbows.

She looked confused as she examined the IDs, "I thought you said you were from the FBI." She glanced up at Sam.

"Uh…" He stuttered as he tried to take an upside down peak at what his ID said.

Dean interrupted, "No, I'm with the FBI. Samuel here is consulting with us on our case."

She raised an eyebrow as she handed back the badges, "Really? The Center for Pest Control and the FBI are working together?"

A slight shrug of his shoulders and a small grin, "Crazy times, huh?"

"Well," she said with a sigh, "I guess I can answer a few questions."

She stood there expectantly.

They waited for her to open the door.

Dean, "Well? Can we come in?"

She laughed, turning pink, "Oh! Of course!" She opened the door for them, stepped back to let them through, "By the way, my name is Kristin." She smiled over her shoulder as she led the way through the house.

"Sorry about the chaos that the house is in at the moment." The woman apologized, "We're in the middle of moving… Shanna bought a house…"

Stepping over boxes. Kristin swore as she stepped on a cat that was hiding behind one of them.

"Good for her." Sam nodded.

"Yeah, it'll be nice getting out of this crap hole."

She lead them into her living room, "We don't really have much furniture here at the moment but pull up a box and have a seat." She laughed. "And can I get you two anything to drink?"

Sam, "Uhh, some coffee would be great."

Dean, "Just water is fine with me… unless you have a 7up or something?"

"What the crap Dean?" Sam hissed after Kristin had left the room, "What are we doing here?"

"We're interviewing the roommate." Duh.

Sam rolled his eyes, "I thought we came here to talk with Shanna- that was the plan! Why are we talking with Kristin? We should have just left and come back tomorrow."

Dean shrugged, grabbed a handful of the M&Ms that sat in a bowl on probably the only piece of furniture that hadn't been packed up yet.

"Sometimes you have to screw the plan Sammy. Besides, this works out better. I don't think we'd get too much out of Shanna- she and I didn't exactly… uh, part on the best of… uh, terms."

"Yeah, but posing as feds? Why couldn't we have just told the truth? That we're friends of Shanna's"

A small smile played around the edges of Dean's lips, "The truth? Hell Sammy, what's the fun in that? Besides," he grabbed some more M&Ms , "We're not friends of Shanna's."

"You boys are dressed awfully casual for feds." Kristin observed as she came in, carefully balancing the drinks.

Sam tapped his foot nervously. He hated rushing head first into situations like this without a plan. He glared over at Dean, who was sitting back comfortably, an easy smile on his face. Apparently Dean thrived on this kind of thing. Good for him- Sam would let him take this question.

Dean thanked her for the soda as she handed it to him, took a sip, "Yeah, well, we're plainclothes agents."

Wow. That was an incredibly lame explanation. But she seemed to buy it.

"So," Sam began quickly, before she had time to question them anymore, "Let's get down to business."

Her eyes grew wide. "Yes, of course. What do you need to know?"

Sam leaned forward, "How long have you known Shanna?"

Kristin tilted her head, thought for a minute, "Hmm… we were roommates junior year of college so that makes it about seven years now." She paused, "What did you say this was about?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably, they didn't really have a cover story. Again, Dean jumped in, "We didn't. We really aren't at liberty to give out that information at this time. But let's just say we think Shanna is involved with the wrong people."

She gave a choked cry, "She's not involved in anything illegal, is she?"

"No, we don't think so, but the people that we suspect she's involved with are." Dean replied, putting a reassuring hand on her arm.

She took a shaky breath, "Damn. She's just so naïve. I knew one day she'd get herself into trouble!"

Dean asked a few more questions but he was getting antsy, Kristin wasn't revealing anything incriminating regarding Shanna's involvement in black magic. Besides, he needed a look around the house. See if there was any evidence of witchcraft. Maybe an altar, an herb garden, a book… anything.

There was a pause in the conversation and he grabbed it, "Excuse me, do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

"Oh yeah, sure. Just up the stairs, first door to your left."

"Thanks." He nodded, standing up.

Sam looked up at Dean, "Do you want us to wait with the questions till you get back?"

"Nah, go ahead without me. You can fill me in when I get back."

The trip up the stairs was more arduous then anticipated... by the time Dean reached the top he had to pause and catch his breath. He wheezed out a string of curses as he leaned against the wall for support. It was pathetic that a mere flight of steps could make him so winded.

But he couldn't stand there for too long. Didn't want to raise suspicions. He would have to make this quick.

And what he hadn't anticipated, and what he really should have thought of, was the fact that Shanna was moving and everything was packed. He gave the first bedroom a cursory glance, a few books remained on the bookshelf but nothing of interest... unless of course you found a book on stress-free living or a biography about Martin Van Buren interesting. Which Dean did not.

In the next bedroom there was more of the same except for a few open boxes. Dean quickly dug through them, careful not to leave any sign that they had been tampered with. Some more books, a box of stuffed animals, linen, some odds and ends... a Harry Potter book. _Oh_. Dean examined it with interest. Read a few of the pages. _Wow. What a bunch of crap._ He snorted as he flipped through it. He couldn't imagine a witch putting up with that kind of nonsense when she knew the real stuff.

_Shit. What was that?_ He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He tossed the book back into the box and whirled around. There was nothing there but it reminded him that he had probably been up there too long. He replaced everything he had moved back to where he had found it. Glanced in the bathroom, rifled through the medicine cabinet.

There were a hundred different kinds of nutritional supplements, ibuprofen, tylenol, cold medicine... stuff like that but nothing suspicious. The next cupboard held every kind of hair and bath product imaginable, dozens of bottles of shampoos, conditioners, bath salts. But again, nothing unusual.

He scrubbed his face with his hand. Splashed some water on his face. Sighed heavily. Things weren't looking good. All of a sudden he had the overwhelming urge to just crawl up in a ball somewhere, the back of the Impala sounded good right now, and just sleep for the next ten years. He sighed again.

**%%%**

_Find anything?_ Sam mouthed as Dean re-entered the room. Dean gave a slight shake of his head, no, from behind Kristin's chair.

"Hey Dean, you feeling all right? You don't look so good." Sam looked concerned as Dean took his seat next to him.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let me see your notes."

Sam handed over the notes he had been taking and continued with his conversation with Kristin, "I just have a few more questions and then I think we can get out of your hair."

The sound of the front door opening. Footsteps coming towards them.

"Hey Kristi, I'm back! I left my purse here and..." the voice trailed off with a slight gasp at the end, "Dean!"

_'Witchcraft' she had joked when he had asked her how she had gotten so lucky at the casino. But who jokes like that? Who jokes about messing around with witchcraft?  
><em>

_Then there was the Harry Potter book. Sure it was pretty unrealistic as far as books involving witchcraft go, but it definitely showed where her mind was.  
><em>

_And all of a sudden he remembered, he was pretty damn sure, he had woken up the morning after the incident with Shanna with the worst headache of his life. At the time he had thought it was a hangover. But now with hindsight he could see that it wasn't. Was it? It was the beginning. His health had gone downhill after that. Well... he had been feeling a little queasy a few days before... no, dammit. He started feeling sick the morning after he met Shanna. _

_And here Shanna stood. Here was his chance. _

And suddenly, Dean forgot the doubts he had had moments before about Shanna being a witch. He felt the blood rush to his head and he felt dizzy with rage._  
><em>

Shanna, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Dean rushed to his feet, "Oh please. Cut the crap."

Shanna repeated, voice had turned to ice, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Kristin, "You know him?"

Dean, "Don't play the idiot. I know you're not stupid. A little bit of power and it goes to your head! Do you have any idea what the hell you're messing with?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!"

Dean hissed.

Shanna's small form was trembling with anger, "How did you even find me? You're psychotic- god, I have terrible taste in men!"

Dean was livid, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, his voice was low and deadly, "You scheming bitch. Whatever you did, undo it right now or I swear to God, you will regret the day you ever thought you could screw with me.'

Kristin was hyperventilating, her face white. Coming to the rescue of her friend, "Get out of here before I call the police!"

Sam, "Come on Dean, you're making a mistake." He grabbed his brother's arm, pulling him away. "Whoa! Dean! Put the gun away!"

Dean wrenched himself from Sam's grip, "I know what I'm doing." He spat.

Kristin, "I'm calling the police!"

He turned back to Shanna. And just then something shiny hanging from her neck caught his eye. It was a crucifix.

"Oh damn." He whispered. _Talk about awkward situations._

**TBC**

_A/N: I really hate this chapter- it just feels off! So I apologize for that. There should be one more chapter left and I hope you enjoy how I wrap things up._


	7. Chapter 7

**Story So Far: Dean has been growing increasingly sick and has been getting increasingly irrational. He fears that someone from his past has placed a curse on him but Sam insists that whatever illness he has is completely natural.  
><strong>

**Rating: T for language**

**A/N: I feel bad for having the boys fight so much in this story but you see, Dean's been a bit irrational lately and well, Sam hasn't been completely honest with Dean about something...**

**A/N: I had planned for this to be the last chapter but it looks like I'm going to have to spread this between two.**

_**What Happened Before:** Dean was livid, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward, his voice was low and deadly, "You scheming bitch. Whatever you did, undo it right now or I swear to God, you will regret the day you ever thought you could screw with me.'_

_Kristin was hyperventilating, her face white. Coming to the rescue of her friend, "Get out of here before I call the police!"_

_Sam, "Come on Dean, you're making a mistake." He grabbed his brother's arm, pulling him away. "Whoa! Dean! Put the gun away!"_

_Dean wrenched himself from Sam's grip, "I know what I'm doing." He spat._

_Kristin, "I'm calling the police!"_

_He turned back to Shanna. And just then something shiny hanging from her neck caught his eye. It was a crucifix._

_"Oh damn." He whispered. Talk about awkward situations._

**Now**

"Damnit." Dean muttered to himself as he caught a glimpse of the time on the clock on the bedside table. He had overslept. The sun was just beginning to rise and light was creeping in through the partially closed curtains.

He stumbled too quickly out of bed, gripping the wall to steady himself until the wave of dizziness passed. He shook his head to clear it of the fog. He hadn't meant to sleep this late. Had just wanted to take a quick power nap... an hour at the longest. Long enough for Sam to relax and fall asleep.

He splashed his face with cold water hoping to jolt himself awake but his head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Like someone had slipped him a mickey.

Dean hitched up his pants and pulled his belt tighter. He didn't appreciate that he had lost nearly ten pounds. He didn't appreciate that his favorite jeans, the ones that were old, worn, and comfortable no longer fit right. And he couldn't wait until he could eat again. When the thought of cheeseburgers didn't make him nauseated.

Stumbling over his duffel bag Dean let out a startled curse. He quickly looked over at Sam, feeling a lot like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Sammy however was still slumped over his laptop, fast asleep. He held his breath, straining for several moments until he was satisfied that his brother had not been disturbed.

Dean grinned slightly as he crept for the door, slowly opening it, careful to not make a sound. He glanced back one more time to make sure that Sam was still sleeping. It was just paranoia on Dean's part, Sam wouldn't be waking anytime soon. Dean would be long gone by the time he awoke. He felt a twinge of guilt at having drugged his brother with four sleeping pills. Personally, three of them would have knocked Dean out cold for hours but Sam was a big guy and Dean wanted him to sleep for a long time.

He hoped Sam wouldn't be too pissed at him when he found out. But then again, Sam never needed to find out. Sam wouldn't dream that Dean would drug him. And damn, that made him feel even more guilty. He was taking advantage of his kid brother's trust in him.

He pushed those thoughts aside because damn it all, Sam _wasn't _trusting him and that's why Dean had had to resort to drugging him in the first place!

Sometimes you just had to do what was necessary to get the job done. In the grand scheme of things, doping his bitchy little brother up with some sleeping pills so that he could gank the witch that was trying to kill him really wasn't that terrible. In fact Dean felt it was justified.

The early morning air was chilled. He pulled his jacket tighter. He hoped that the Impala's noisy engine wouldn't alert Sam to his departure.

He was on the road for twenty minutes. It felt like eternity. An eternity that he struggled to keep his eyes open. The bright early morning sun was not making it any easier to stay awake. He should have stopped for coffee. Maybe at the next exit. But Dean was dozing off long before he reached the next exit. Losing control of the car and nearly driving off the road jolted him awake. He decided he should probably pull over and take a nap, wouldn't do him any good to crash the car and kill himself. He set his cell phone's alarm to go off in exactly one hour. That would still leave him plenty of time to get out of town before Sam noticed him missing.

_**The Evening Before**_

_Sam had pulled Dean out of that house so fast, all that could be seen was a trail of dust reminiscent of Bugs Bunny or the Road Runner. _

_"What the hell were you thinking?" He screamed as soon as they were safely at the motel room. His voice reaching decibels that Dean hadn't known Sam could reach. _

_Dean winced, "Shut up Sam, my head hurts and you're making it worse."_

_He threw a bottle of aspirin at Dean and continued, "What were you thinking pulling a gun on her? You better hope to hell she doesn't press charges because with Hendrickson on our ass that is the last thing we need... and she knows your freakin' name!"_

_Dean pressed his lips together in a thin line. "It was a mistake Sam. Don't try to pretend like you've never made one cause I'm pretty sure I can think up a few!"_

_"So stupid! It was a stupid mistake!"_

_Dean changed the subject, "Checkout's tomorrow morning."_

_Sam raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms. "No, it's not. We have a week here."_

_"We _had _a week here. I talked to the manager and changed things. We're going to Massachusetts tomorrow to talk to Jenna. If I were you I'd get my shit together and get to bed because I'm setting the alarm and we're leaving here bright and early. I won't wait for you."_

_Sam laughed in disbelief, "You've got to be kidding me."_

_"Yeah, cause I'm in such a hilarious mood right now."_

_"You're assuming it's a curse and not some... normal... illness... that has nothing to do with witches!"_

_Dean rolled his eyes, "Why are you so certain that it's not? Do you know something that I don't?"_

_Sam stiffened, his face going a shade whiter. It was almost imperceptible and Dean wondered if maybe he just imagined the way Sam's hand was shaking._

_Sam changed his tactic to sympathetic and worried. _

_His voice was pleading, "Come on Dean, I don't want to fight... it's just... it's just this sickness is messing with your mind... you're not thinking clearly!"_

_Oops. He had turned on the puppy dog eyes but even that didn't work this time. It was a combination of Dean's complete lack of energy and Sam's fast reflexes that prevented Dean from clocking Sam in the jaw. Didn't stop him from trying though. _

_"Whoa man! Calm down!"_

_Dean was breathing heavily... trying to twist his hand out of Sam's grip, but he stopped cold when he saw the expression in Sam's eyes. He had expected anger, annoyance, something like that. Not... fear. _

_"I don't know what to do..." Sam whispered to himself more than anyone else as he released Deans wrist. Dean's hand fell limply to his side. _

_"You can take me to go talk to Jenna."_

_"Yeah, so you can go blow her brains out!" Sam scoffed._

_"I don't want to bl-"_

_"End of discussion." Sam interrupted, "I'm not discussing this. I'm not going to let you harass anyone else."_

_"Sam. I'm tired and my head is killing me. I'm going to sleep. We can argue about this tomorrow." _

_Dean was going to have to finish this on his own. _

_"I can't sleep." Dean groaned, not ten minutes later, as he crawled out of bed, standing unsteadily on his feet.. He sat back down on the edge, collecting himself for several moments before pulling up his jeans and putting on his shoes._

_He stood,, "I'll be right back." He grabbed his wallet and jacket._

_Sam looked up sharply from the book he was reading, "Wait, where are you going?"_

_"To get some coffee."_

_"I don't think coffee is the best cure for insomnia."_

_"Not for me moron, for you. I'm getting myself some pie."_

_"I didn't ask for coffee..."_

_"Yeah, well if you're going to be standing guard by the door all night you're going to need some coffee to stay awake."_

_"I wasn't standing guard!... Okay, maybe I was. Are you coming back?"_

_"You expect me to answer that honestly?"_

_"I hope that you'll answer it honestly."_

_Dean just grinned._

_"That's it. I'm coming with you." Sam said tossing his book aside._

_"I'll be back Sam." Dean growled, slamming the door behind him._

_Dean returned twenty minutes later with the coffee and pie. He had bought decaf coffee but he didn't plan to tell Sam that. He lay back on the bed and watched Sam drink it while reading on his laptop._

_Sam took a sip, grimaced, "This is terrible coffee! Ugh." _

_Dean shrugged, "It was from that diner up the road. Maybe it'll grow on you as you drink it."_

_"Doubt it." Sam winced as he drank some more._

_Sam looked over at Dean, "Hey man, you should really try to sleep!"_

_"I can't."_

_Sam tilted his head to the side, then rising he turned off the lights. "Maybe this will help."_

_"I'm thirsty." Dean whined. _

_He thirstily gulped down the bottle of water that Sam handed to him, not noticing the slightly bitter taste of the sleeping pills that Sam had spiked it with._

**Now**

Dean tried to pull his eyes open but sleep kept dragging them down. In the background he could hear _"_Smoke on the Water" play in a continuous loop... and then darkness and silence again.

Red. So much red... and brown... and... what the heck? Apparently it was a person. A person wearing a red t-shirt. And the person was moving... Dean seemed to be moving with the person...

"...S'mmy? ...Are you...carrying me?" He asked groggily.

The voice did not sound pleased, "No. I'm dragging your ass back to the motel."

"Oh. Okay."

Dean regained consciousness about ten minutes later. He was flat on his back and his head hurt like a bitch.

Sam sat across from him on the other bed, waiting for him to wake up.

"Here." Sam said, pushing a Styrofoam cup of coffee into Dean's shaky hands. "Sit up and tell me what the hell you think you were doing back there."

Dean groaned, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I wake up and you're gone. No note. Nothing. Bed's empty, the Impala is gone...dude, you left me stranded here with no car!"

"Well I notice you seemed to get around just fine without it."

"I had to call a taxi!"

Dean shrugged, "Whatever."

"...So I put a trace on your cell phone and when I find you, you're slumped over your steering wheel!"

"Yeah, cause I was asleep."

"Yeah well, I freaked out! There you were out in the middle of nowhere, slumped over your steering wheel and I thought..."

"...and you thought what Sammy?"

Sam glared at him angrily, "You scared me to death! I thought you'd done something stupid!"

Dean laughed in disbelief, "You're kidding me!"

"You haven't been yourself lately! I don't know what the hell you're going to do from one minute to the other... I wish you would just listen to me because I seem to be the only one thinking rationally here!"

Sam was afraid Dean was going to try to slug him again so he quickly rose from the bed and walked to the other side of the room.

Dean's eyes followed him.

"Please Dean." Sam sounded exhausted, "You know I don't want you to die ... so just trust me!"

Dean was silent. Sam waited for him to respond and wondered if he would.

"Okay." Dean said quietly, twisting the bed sheet between his fingers, "Okay. Hear me out."

"Dean. That's all I've been doing. Nothing you say will change my mind."

"No. Just listen. I have a proposition. I'll let you take me to the doctor and if he can diagnose me with the flu or mono or whatever crap you think I have, I will do whatever you say. I will take whatever pills he pushes, I will drop this whole thing. But if he can't find anything wrong with me, if whatever tests he does come back negative then I get to run this ship."

Sam drew a sharp intake of breath. "No." He said, his eyes wide. "That's a very bad idea!"

Dean raised an eyebrow, "Well, actually I was thinking it was a brilliant idea and was wondering why I hadn't thought of it before!"

"You can't go to the doctor...You hate doctors!"

"So?"

"Man, all they're gonna tell you is that you have mono. And then they're gonna tell you to drink lots of water and get lots of sleep. Nothing that I can't do! Dean, drink some more water and get to bed!" Sam's laugh sounded a little too forced.

Dean's voice was cold and steely, "Is this about Gatlinburg?"

"What?"

"You know that case you wanted to take because you felt it was better use of our time than trying to save my life..."

"No! I was just trying to make a point back there- you know I didn't mean it!"

"Then what is it about? Tell me Sam. Because I'm trying to be 'rational' here!

"I just feel like going to the doctor would not be the best use of our money when we can take care of this ourselves!"

"Oh." Dean nodded. "I get it. Apparently trying to save my life is a waste of time _and _money!"

Sam threw up his hands in exasperation, "Fine! I'll take you to the doctor. Happy?"

"Yes, I am, Sammy."

Dean wondered vaguely if there was something that Sam was telling him...

**TBC**


End file.
